


A State of Disgrace

by vidocqsociety



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-29
Updated: 2012-07-29
Packaged: 2017-11-11 00:53:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/472657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vidocqsociety/pseuds/vidocqsociety
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, superheroes get sick. Others aren't so lucky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A State of Disgrace

**Author's Note:**

> A fill for [this post](http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/7940.html?thread=14953220#t14953220) over at the [Avengers kink meme](http://avengerkink.livejournal.com).

"I'm dying."

"You're not dying."

"I'm dying, and you're mocking me."

"Sir, Captain Rogers is correct. You are indeed not dying. You have been infected with a strain of influenza--"

"Bird flu."

"No, sir. Influenza A, typical of this time of year."

"Shut up, JARVIS." Tony flung an arm dramatically over his eyes. "It's bird flu. I'm dying. And Captain America is mocking me. I want it written on my tombstone: ‘Mocked by Captain America as he died of bird flu'."

If JARVIS could sigh, he would have at that point. Instead, he just said, "Noted, sir."

"I'm not mocking you." Steve held the back of his hand to the top of Tony's head. "And you barely have a fever."

"But I _do_ have one."

Before Steve could respond, he was interrupted by a hacking cough. They looked up to watch Natasha shuffle into the sprawling communal area, looking... not like Natasha. Instead of the sleek, polished superspy they were used to seeing, she was a rumpled, red-nosed mess, swathed in a fluffy pink robe, clutching tissues and looking positively murderous. Between her pale lips, she held a thermometer. She glanced from Steve to Tony before rolling her eyes. She started back up towards the kitchen.

"Natasha!" Bruce came rushing out of the hallway towards Natasha. He looked frazzled. "You have to stay still when I'm taking your temperature." He gently pushed Natasha onto a chair, took the thermometer out and reset it. He pointed it at her. "Stay."

Natasha said something in Russian that was probably very rude, but remained seated. Bruce stuck the thermometer back in her mouth.

"You want some tea?" Steve offered. He felt bad. She looked miserable. She smiled at him around the thermometer and nodded.

Steve could commiserate. He spent most of his pre-serum days with one illness or another. His mother would make him tea and he would lie on the couch, covered in blankets, and listen to the radio all day. Bucky would come by after school with his missed homework and tease him about being lazy. They would laugh and spend the rest of the afternoon pretending to do homework. It made being sick bearable.

"Coffee," Tony moaned from the couch.

"I'm not giving you coffee," Steve said. "You can have tea, like everyone else."

"Need coffee to live."

Steve got the container of tea bags down from the cabinet. "Earl Grey or English breakfast?"

Tony was silent a moment. Then, begrudgingly: "Earl Grey."

"Thank you for being sensible."

Over the back of the couch, Tony flipped him off.

Steve shook his head as he pulled down mugs. "Why is everyone so rude today?"

"We're sick," Natasha said after Bruce removed the thermometer. Steve couldn't tell if she was just severely congested or if her accent was coming back. He decided it was a little of both. "We're allowed to be."

Bruce checked her temperature. He shook his head. "101. Tea, and then bed."

Natasha nodded, and pulled her robe closer around her. Bruce went to the sink and rinsed the thermometer in hot water.

"You're not sick," Steve said to him as he dropped tea bags into each mug. He sounded relieved.

"Nope," Bruce said, leaning against the counter, idly shaking the thermometer to dry. "Neither are you."

Steve shook his head. "Serum."

"Gamma radiation." Bruce pushed his glasses back up onto his nose. "Silver lining, I guess."

"Well, anything I can do to help, I'm here."

"Getting them back into bed for a start."

"Easier said than done," Steve said. He added, loud enough for Tony to hear, "Natasha at least listens to reason."

"Just shut up and give me my tea," Tony said, waving a hand at him over the back of the couch.

The kettle clicked off, and Steve began to pour. "Hey," he asked Bruce. "Where's Clint? Is he--?"

In answer to his question, Clint stumbled into the room, clutching an unopened bottle of Nyquil. He collapsed into a dining chair and held it out. "Open." His voice was raw and raspy.

"There's an almost half-full bottle in the medicine cabinet," Bruce said. Without prompting, Steve readied another mug for Clint.

"Drank it."

Bruce made an odd choking sound. "You drank _half a bottle_ of Nyquil?"

"Clint doesn't take well to being sick." Natasha gave Steve a grateful smile as he set the mug of tea down in front of her. She leaned over it and breathed in the steam. 

"There's Nyquil?" Tony crawled up to lean on the back of the couch. "Barton, you bastard. Share the wealth."

Clint shook his head. "Get your own."

"You've had enough," Bruce said, taking the bottle from Clint. He tried to protest, but all he could manage was a half-hearted slap on Bruce's arm. Bruce stilled. The room waited his reaction. Clint stared up at him, looking as defiant as he could with watery eyes and a runny nose.

And then Bruce snorted. He shook his head, looking thoroughly amused, as he went back to leaning on the counter, Nyquil still in hand.

"Laughing," Clint said. "At my pain."

"They both are," Tony said. He had draped his folded arms over the couch. "I'm dying of bird flu and Steve has spent all morning belittling that fact."

"You're the least sick of the bunch," Steve said, putting a mug down on the coffee table. "Stop whining."

Natasha huffed something like a laugh. "That's like asking him to stop breathing."

"I can't breathe anyway."

"Breathing hurts," Clint added helpfully.

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open to reveal a very cheerful-looking Thor. "Greetings, fellow Avengers!" he boomed as he entered. Clint, Natasha, and Tony all groaned and covered their ears. Thor's face immediately became one of concern. "What is this?"

"Flu season," Bruce said. "They all have fevers, and they all need to go to bed." He gave the three of them a stern look. Natasha pointed to her tea. Clint stared forlornly at the bottle of Nyquil in Bruce's hand. Tony just made an odd whining noise from the couch.

"You two are pathetic," Natasha said.

"Dying!" Tony shot back.

"Can't move fingers," Clint murmured, staring at his hands spread wide on the table. "Bad sign?"

"Usually," Bruce said. "You want a straw?"

"Yes."

Bruce put the bottle of Nyquil onto the counter. He found a bendy straw and stuck it in Clint's mug. "Better?"

"Thanks." Clint forced himself forward and sipped at his tea. "Sugar?"

"I put some in there," Steve said.

"More."

"How much?"

"Just pour the whole thing in," Natasha said. "If Clint can taste the tea, then there's not enough sugar in it."

"Shut up."

"I can still shoot you."

"Can't move. Not fair."

"When have I ever been fair?"

"Touché."

Steve spooned six more spoonfuls of sugar into Clint's tea. "Better?"

Clint took another sip. "Better."

"I want a straw, too!" Tony called, sounding petulant. "And ice!"

Steve sighed, but acquiesced. "This is not how I wanted to be spending my Saturday," he said, dropping two ice cubes and a straw into Tony's mug.

"Really? Because dying of bird flu is _exactly_ how I wanted to be spending mine."

"Well, you usually get what you want."

"Again with the mocking!"

"You're putting it on your tombstone," said Steve with a grin. "I don't want to make a liar out of you in death."

"How thoughtful," Tony said. He swirled his straw around his mug before taking a sip. It was just hot enough to be soothing and relaxing, with just the right amount of sugar to sweeten it but not hide the light taste of the tea. It was possibly the greatest thing he had ever had. 

There was no way he was letting Steve know that.

"Not bad," he said. "It's not coffee, but it's not bad."

"Glad you approve." Steve sat down on the armchair next to the couch and began to flip through channels on mute.

"Put on _American Restoration_ ," Tony said, flopping back into a prone position, head towards the TV. Thor and Bruce sat on the floor in front of the couch. Thor had his legs stretched out under the coffee table, while Bruce sat in a lotus position, hands on his knees.

"Boring!" Clint said. He had given up trying to move and had remained at the table, fully content to yell things at the rest of the group. "Put on _Swamp People_!"

"No! My TV, my choice."

"I have the remote," Steve said. "And I'm watching _American Experience_." He unmuted it.

"PBS?" Tony groaned over the show's opening theme. "Why don't you just watch paint dry?"

"That does not sound entertaining," Thor said, brow furrowed.

"My point," Tony replied.

"What's the focus?" Natasha asked, curling her hands around her mug.

"Annie Oakley."

She perked up. "I'll watch that." She grabbed her mug and padded over to the other armchair. "I always did like her."

Tony snorted. "I'm shocked." 

"You can be," Natasha replied sweetly. Tony fell silent.

It was a nice moment. Everyone was quiet (save Clint loudly sucking up the last few drops of tea through his straw). Tony even seemed to be dozing off.

And then their phones went off.

The shrill chirrup was recognized immediately: SHIELD was calling them in. Bruce and Steve exchanged concerned looks before surveying the rest of the team.

Natasha sipped at her tea. "Have fun, boys." 

"Right," Steve said with a curt nod, getting up. Duty called, and there was no reason that those who weren't sick shouldn't answer. 

Unfortunately, Thor got to his phone before Steve could get to his.

"Agent Hill!" Thor boomed into his phone. "What manner of evil dare attack Midgard?" Thor nodded as Maria Hill explained the situation. "We shall defend this realm to the death. Good day, Agent Hill." Thor cut the call. He retrieve Mjolnir from its resting place by the elevator. "A creature by the name of Juggernaut has robbed several banks and destroyed many buildings. Local authorities are unable to stop him."

"Coming," Clint said. He didn't move.

"You can't lift a mug of tea!" Steve said. "How are you going to lift a bow?"

"Need out." He lolled his head around. "Cabin fever."

"Sit by the window," Bruce offered, getting up.

Tony, meanwhile, had rolled off of the couch. "Lemme just get to my suit."

"Sir, given your current condition, I would advise for you to remain at the Tower and leave those who are not ill to take care of the situation."

"I'm fine."

"Five minutes ago you were dying," Steve pointed out.

"I made a promise to the world that I would protect them. I cannot disappoint," he said dramatically from the floor. "The world needs Iron Man."

"Not a sick one, they don't." Steve grabbed Tony under his arms and put him back onto the couch. "Just stay here and get some rest. Watch a movie." Steve dashed to his room to collect his things.

"We're never going to agree on anything," Tony grumped. He pointed a finger at Clint. "And we are not watching _Night of the Blood Beast_!"

Clint huffed, annoyed. "Hate you."

Bruce stood awkwardly, looking from Clint to the elevator.

"Are you unwell, Dr. Banner?" Thor asked, concerned. "Have you also fell victim to this plague?"

"It's not plague," Tony corrected. "It's bird flu."

"It's not bird flu!" Steve snapped, coming out from his room, shield and uniform on his arm. "You'll be back to normal in a few days."

"No," Bruce replied. "I'm not sick. It's just… I mean, I'm a doctor. My instinct says I shouldn't leave them alone. But seeing as they're only three of us that are well enough to fight, I should probably go with you guys."

"A dilemma most vexing," Thor agreed with a nod.

"Go," Tony said. "I'll call Pepper. She can babysit us invalids while you're away."

"Then she'll get sick."

"I've seen that woman take down the board with walking pneumonia. She's fine. JARVIS? Call Pepper. Explain the situation."

"Calling, sir."

"And tell her to bring soup!"

*

An hour or so later, Steve, Bruce, and Thor came back home, a little worse for wear, but victorious and relatively unharmed. What they came home to, however, made them stop dead in their tracks.

The end credits to _Casino Royale_ played on the television. Natasha was curled up in an armchair, using her robe as a blanket. Tony was half hanging off of the couch, mouth open and drooling slightly onto the pillow. Clint was sitting upright with his face pressed against the window, but dead asleep, his steady breath fogging up the glass. Pepper sat at the table, idly flipping through an issue of Vanity Fair as a mug of tea cooled beside her.

Steve pulled his cowl off. "What did you do to them?"

Pepper sipped calmly at her tea before giving them all a slightly evil smile. "You'd be amazed at what wonders chicken noodle soup and Unisom can work."

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from an Abbe Pierre quote: "Illness has always brought me nearer to a state of grace." Pretty much the opposite of how the Avengers are. : )


End file.
